


Annus Mirabilis

by paprikaflakes



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: A character study with porn, Ambiguous Relationships, Anonymous Sex, Batman: Zero Year, Bisexual Edward Nygma, Bratting, Canon typical bastard behavior on the part of Riddler, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Kink, Crack Treated Seriously, Creepy and unsettling behavior, Dark Comedy, Edward Nygma is not a good person, F/M, Femdom, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Masochism, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, POV Edward Nygma, Porn with a light veneer of plot, Praise Kink, Self-Bondage, Shibari, Slight Canon Divergence, Sub Edward Nygma, Topping from the Bottom, Zero Year Riddler, basically he decides to get laid for once in his life and it all goes awry, half of the sex is just him fantasizing in his head, neurodivergent character, no beta we die like gothamites dropped in a lion pit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26316700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paprikaflakes/pseuds/paprikaflakes
Summary: Edward Nygma finds himself preoccupied by distractions, and he needs to focus for his plans for Gotham to come to fruition. He decides to find some ways to blow off some steam before and during the Zero Year.
Relationships: Edward Nygma/Bruce Wayne, Edward Nygma/Original Female Character(s), Edward Nygma/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

Philip Kane thinks of himself as a very modern employer, a man with very modern attitudes overall, and he is, if one was to ignore the persistent whispers that any member of the Kane family gets. But, the man was still tied to the idea that Edward needed to be on the premises of Wayne Enterprises to do his job. Technically, Edward could do his job anywhere in the world, with a crayon and a pad of paper, even, because really, all he needed was his mental faculties intact. But, it made Kane more at ease to see his advisor working in the building the majority of the time. So, Edward has given himself free reign of the tower, because he needn't limit himself to his office and the string spatial algorithm. 

Today, it is Thursday. Thursday is the day that Edward takes his laptop and works on his spreadsheets in the coffee shop in the lobby. Edward collects his LexBook, it’s the second laptop he uses for things that aren’t terribly sensitive information, like expenses spreadsheets. He slides it into his laptop bag, and heads to the elevator. People get on the elevator, people get off the elevator. 

On the 16th floor, two chatty female interns, cheap shoes and expensive handbags, a cloud of saccharine perfume, step on, sliding past a harried man speaking Korean into his headset. The taller, blonder one is gesticulating and going on about the _best_ little bakery, only a couple blocks away, it was all over social media and how they’ve simply _got_ to try it, won’t it be so _fun,_ and the shorter one looks worn out.

The taller one’s dress, a little aubergine number, is just short and tight enough to be on the verge of inappropriate. He swallows involuntarily and catches himself staring at the bare skin of her thighs, the curve of her ass, the shape of her waist. A dancer's frame, or, more likely, toned from boutique exercise classes and fad diets. She hasn’t noticed him staring, but people tend not to anyways. He stares for exactly five seconds, then slides his gaze to the upper right corner, near the security camera. To an outside observer, he was just spacing out. Their conversation is inane enough and it turns into a dull wave washing over him as the elevator goes down, down, down, until it hits the ground floor. 

Edward likes the design of the newest Wayne Enterprises building well enough. It’s surprisingly airy, letting the sunshine in. There are solar panels on the roof, a plant wall in the lobby even, an attempt at corporate greenwashing that strikes him as being terribly hollow, considering he's one of the people that actually is privy to the knowledge of Wayne Enterprises pollution output and ties with oil companies. But still. The building before was terribly art deco, what some liked to call “the charm of old Gotham” and what Edward liked to call an overwrought, tacky eyesore. Then, he makes his way to the small café in the corner, and takes a glance at the reason he spends Thursdays here. She’s pouring an order into a cup. Colleen smiles at him, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners, when she notices him, and places the order on the counter. 

“The usual? Or do you want to try something new this time?” 

“I get what I usually get because I like it a lot, I don’t think I could be so certain about something new. I’m nothing if not a consistent person, Colleen. So! I'll have the usual, if you please.”

“Ah, fair point, fair point. You don’t seem like the type of guy to want a frou-frou drink anyways. _”_

She’s already pumping mint syrup into the cup. Black, two pumps mint. Simple enough to be easy to make, but weird enough for her to remember him. It wasn’t intentional, but it happened. Colleen makes the coffee, hands it to him. Her fingers brush his wrist by accident when he pays. He goes and sits in the corner, where he can look without making it too obvious. 

Her long, black hair is up in a practical bun, and he imagines what it would feel like to run his fingers through it. If it would be as soft as it looks. He’s seen it down, before. Not in person. But it wasn’t exactly difficult to dredge up her old social media profiles, to scroll through pictures of her in new dresses and at restaurants and in swimsuits. A particular favorite of his was her wearing a blue bikini, on a beach, holding a drink, with the caption “thanks for having me coast city! #springbreak”

And it wasn’t exactly difficult to find out even more about her. That she volunteered at an animal shelter. That she did taekwondo, and it shows in the lean muscle of her frame. That she used to run a blog about the punk band Scare Tactics, that she was arrested for shoplifting at fifteen, that she has an allergy to shellfish and chronic migraines. The little details form a web of a person. It still isn’t quite enough. 

Edward can’t figure out why, exactly, his brain decided to focus on Colleen. It’s a riddle that twitches at the back of his mind, sometimes. Edward has managed to deduce that it isn't a wish for something romantic. She's not intelligent enough to meet what he would want in an intimate partner. Maybe it’s because she flirts a little with him, but she does that with just enough male customers for it to feel impersonal. There’s just something about her that makes him designate a block of time for him to watch. 

Eventually, he’s going to need to get around to getting rid of her. It’ll be by flooding their online customer feedback form with complaints about rude service and poorly made drinks. He’ll need to focus completely on his plan for Gotham. But, until then, he’ll simply appreciate her lusciously full lips, the lovely contrast of her light skin and dark hair, her large blue eyes. And, maybe it’s because he’s feeling especially pent up today, but his mind goes a little deeper into thinking about her, ignoring the half filled spreadsheet on his laptop.

Like irritating computer pop ups, over and over. What Colleen’s hands would feel like sliding up and down his cock. His hands sliding over her pert breasts. Colleen on her knees, unzipping his fly and sliding his cock past her lips, taking him deep. Colleen bent over his desk, moaning for him to go faster, and, oh, how he'd oblige. Colleen whispering in his ear about how _amazing_ and _brilliant_ he is, and that seems to do the trick because he’s fully hard under the table now. This isn't good at all. 

He mentally takes the thoughts, folds them into halves, then quarters, then eighths, discards them in a pile. Then, he focuses on defusing his erection. What usually works, is an odd mental trick he discovered during his teen years. 

‘I’ve got branches but no roots or trunk. What am I? A bank. What can’t talk but replies when spoken to? An echo.’ and so on and so forth.

Edward mentally goes through some of the simple little riddles he knows, until he’s flaccid. But that was _disconcerting,_ how easily he got worked up, how easily those unbidden thoughts came.

He decides, then and there, that he will do something about these annoying physical distractions. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mr. nygma...seems to have a very specific type he's into...athletic, cares about their community, a little rough... remind you of anyone? also scare tactics is a real, in universe band. dc wiki article and everything.  
> there's going to be full on porn soon, don't worry. someone will diddle his riddle, don't you worry.


	2. Chapter 2

The problem with trying to find a sexual partner is that by definition it involved having to interact with people. And Edward’s never been one for dating. It has too many uncontrolled variables. Not many people are capable of actually appreciating what he has to offer. Oh sure, he could turn up the charm enough, come across as geeky and a little scatterbrained but well meaning, and that was like catnip to some people. But what would be the point if what he’s saying is flying over the head of some dullard trying to get him to buy them dinner?

No. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it in a way that won’t completely irritate him. He doesn't want to spend precious time internally rolling his eyes.

In his sparse apartment, Edward is sitting on his couch with his laptop. He takes a bite of his Choco cookie and reads the encrypted email Dr. Helfern sent him. He’s mildly annoyed, because how, exactly, has one person gone through all his lab rats that fast? Is he just gripping them by the tails and smashing them into walls for fun? Is he biting the heads off like a carnival geek? Discreetly diverting resources to Hellfern is actually somewhat time intensive. He takes a deep breath. It’s part of the plan, he reassures himself. No need to get overly frustrated.

He closes the window and opens up his other activity. He has several tabs open, and all of them have to do with his sexual predicament. 

The Casual Encounters section of a certain classified advertisements website could be promising. In terms of personal risk, it’s higher than some of the other options, but if he just wanted a purely physical release, it was a decent choice. It wasn’t like it was his first time trying to have a hookup, but it had been a very long dry spell for him. Usually, Edward would consider himself a Kinsey 2, if he cared to ponder on things as banal as his sexuality. He was definitely mostly into the fairer sex, but, he wasn’t exactly picky right now. The M4M section would be the best bet, in terms of expediency and discretion. 

He’s going over the possibility of his hookup being a deranged serial killer, before he remembers that, statistically speaking, .01% of murders are classified as serial incidents, the North American homicide rate as 3.9 per 100,000 in population, so doing the math from a combined populous of 464 million, he’s got a .00039% chance of being a serial killer's victim. Decent enough odds. 

The next tab is the personal website of a pro-domme. He’s gone digging around about her and apparently, if he paid enough and was quiet about it, she would do a “full-service” session. It would involve a venture into a seedy little BDSM club, aptly named “Pandora’s Box”, where she rented dungeon space. He’s never really considered himself as someone into kink, per-se. 

Well...in high school, Lucy Kincaid from his English class had once accused him of going through her gym bag. He was and he should have been more secretive about it. It wasn't even a sexual kind of curiosity that made him do it, he had just wanted to _know things_ about his crush. Like what kind of deodorant she used, and her shoe size. Eddie Nashton had not yet learned the art of subtlety. He’d stammered out an apology, his eyes had welled with tears, but somehow, it had seemed to goad her on further. Lucy had called him a pervert and slapped him in the face, and at the time, it was somehow both very humiliating and very thrilling. He’d been red in the face for more than one reason, that day.

The whole scenario still gave him a little thrill in his stomach. Of course, he’d gotten one over on her years later, when a certain someone leaked the details of her college sorority’s cheating ring to the dean, because if she was going to cheat, she could at least be _intelligent_ about it. But still, one incident didn’t necessarily make him some kind of masochist. 

Really, it’s because he wanted to be with someone who knew what she was doing. The kink is just… a personal experiment of sorts. To find out, really, if he was into it more than just hypothetically. And they took masochism out of the DSM recently, at least, the kind that isn’t causing psychosocial difficulties. So, while there are many things about Edward that set him apart from standard people, in what some would describe in negative terms, the ambiguous kinks he may or may not have aren’t some of them. It’s an interesting puzzle, and one that he’ll be able to solve.

The third tab is the last possible option, if nothing else pans out. It’s a male masturbator toy with good reviews. He has enough residual Catholic guilt in him to not buy one that looks like a rubbery vagina. This one is made of soft, transparent silicone and looks futuristic enough that it could pass as an interesting conversation piece. Of course, he’s going to have to clean his cum out of it after he uses it, and that isn’t something to look forward to. He's always hated the baser functions of the human body. Frankly? Edward’s hoping it doesn’t come to that. The last time he had sustained contact with another human being was with the doctor during his annual physical, and that was three months ago. He’s getting twitchy. 

Edward decides to try to take the edge off now, otherwise he’d just end up picking any of the options at random. He needs to have a clear head. He shuts his laptop and places it onto the coffee table and lies down fully, stretching his arms behind his head for a second, before he closes his eyes and slides his left hand down his stomach. He focuses on the physical sensation. The tips of his fingers slip under the green, elastic waistband of his boxers and he shimmies his hips to pull them down enough for access.

_Yes, now this is more like it_ , a little voice inside him says. 

He grinds against his palm, and there’s already a little bead of precum. It smears into the creases of his hand. He pulls his hand away and spits into his palm for lubrication. Edward rubs the oversensitive head of his cock with the heel of his hand, just enough pressure to skirt the edge of pain. A sharp breath, and now he’s dripping more. It really has been too long. 

“Why’d I wait so long to do this, _nng_ , _fuck_ , oh my god, I just-” Edward’s muttering to himself as he curls on his side, away from the couch.

He doesn’t want to have to clean that mess off the leather. He’s measured the average time it takes for him to reach orgasm during masturbation sessions, but it seems like he’s so pent up, that it won’t take long at all. A soft, involuntary whimper makes its way out of his throat. He’s so, so close. He speeds up, his hand making a wet slapping noise. If anyone saw him, he’d look utterly lewd and uninhibited, not at all the image of smart and put together he tries to project. They’d think he looked like a _stupid slut!_ And that phrase is what sends him over the edge completely.

Edward sees white, pure bliss, the answer to his questions. His orgasm hits him like a freight train. He shivers and it runs down his spine and to his legs. Cum splatters on his belly, where it gets caught in the sagittal hair growth on his lower abdomen. He’s panting like he ran a marathon and pulls a tissue from the box on the coffee table and lets out a shuddering little sigh. He wipes himself clean and pulls his boxers back up. 

“Well, that was awfully exciting! Now time to be productive again, oh wise one!” Edward deadpans to himself. 

Some of his hair has matted and stuck to his sweat dampened forehead, and he runs his fingers through and smooths it back. He's loose boned and lightheaded. 

He decides to contact the pro-domme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what a creepy little bastard. god, mr. nygma, you have some ISSUES.


	3. Chapter 3

Edward checks his phone in the Uber he’s taking to Pandora’s Box. He’s perfectly on time, barring any future traffic. The driver is listening to talk radio. Edward hates talk radio. Mindless chatter for the unwashed masses, not saying anything important or of real value. Words have power, and right now, he is trapped in the back of a mid-size sedan, listening to valueless ones. 

He decides then and there to give the driver a lower rating. _Three_ stars for you, good sir! 

The person on the radio is talking about the Red Hood Gang. One of them shot a man in the park, for seemingly no reason at all. Edward scoffs internally. Everything always has a reason. The world is founded upon certain principles and there are always, _always_ , causes and answers to things. Heck, he could figure it out in a week or less, if he felt like playing detective. The GCPD is staggeringly incompetent despite their bloated budget. Maybe they could put down the donuts and solve real crimes for once? Like every other institution in Gotham, they would collapse under any real strain.

He hums to himself, taps the arm rest, pulls out his phone, and texts the domme about his impending arrival. Miss Midori. Now _there_ was something to put his attention towards. Their discussions and negotiations prior to the session had been… illuminating. There are, apparently, a multitude of things consenting adults could do to each other, and she would do many of those things for a substantial amount of money. Filling out a form of likes, dislikes, and other important information, and emailing it back to her gave him reassurance that she wouldn’t do something like accidentally erotically asphyxiating him. Well, he did say any breathplay was an absolute hard limit, he knows the reality of vagal-outflow induced cardiac arrest, or a crushed trachea but still. _Competency_. 

_And don't forget,_ a nasty little voice said, _anything_ _that would remind you of your dad is a hard limit for sure-_ Edward stops that train of thought and tells himself to think of something pleasant. Something very pleasant indeed. 

Those pictures of Miss Midori, wearing a form fitting black PVC dress, holding a coil of jute rope and smirking devilishly at the camera were a major factor in swaying his decision. He was only human, after all. A squirming, pink thing governed by whims encoded into him by nature. And, for once, he wasn’t trying to fight those whims at all. At the very least, to placate his higher reasoning functions, Diane Friitawa is reasonably intelligent. A voracious reader, from what he’s dug up on her. She gets several different newspapers delivered to her apartment, and checks out books from the library on a weekly basis, which is always a good sign. If she wasn’t at least a _little_ clever, he wouldn’t have bothered contacting her at all. To be crude about it, he would want both heads, as it were, to be stimulated. He tended to lose interest in people very quickly, when the novelty was gone, the riddle solved, the proverbial knot untied. And having to listen to a _total_ idiot order him around would have completely broken Edward’s already very tenuous suspension of disbelief about all this.

He still could completely ruin her life without even any significant effort on his part. He’d already been easily able to find her real identity, which is painfully mundane. Diane Friitawa, college dropout with large amounts of student loan debt, from a conservative family, who probably got compared to her older sister Linda, the med school high achiever, very often. Pro-domming was good for people who chafed under conventional expectations and who wanted to have large sums of cash on hand without working a nine to five job. This woman wasn’t a difficult puzzle. 

Beyond even being able to dox her, it would have been child’s play to do something like sending her pictures to her friends and family, freezing her bank accounts, or stealing her identity. He decides that if he actually enjoyed his session enough, he would bump up the security on her internet presence as a favor. Most people were fairly computer illiterate anyways, at least compared to him. But it wouldn’t have been very fun, doxxing normal people was like shooting fish in a barrel. _Never let it be said that Edward Nygma,_ he thinks to himself, _is unreasonable._

He exits the car, grateful to not have to listen to more trite nonsense from the radio, and steps out. Pandora’s Box is surprisingly discreet looking, located at the end of a more quiet street behind a security door. This week’s password, fittingly enough, is “Mythos”, which is twee enough to border on pretentious. Edward steels himself and takes a deep breath. He wasn’t a prude, not in the slightest, but it would be a unique atmosphere in there to say the least. And the odds of running into someone he knew were very low, but not impossible. At the very least, he was lucky that Philip Kane didn’t frequent seedy kink clubs, Edward’s actually almost positive the man is an asexual. If he does run into someone he knows, he is going to milk that blackmail opportunity for all it's worth. 

He presses the button for the door phone. It squeals electronically for a bit. _Fix your intercom, idiots,_ he chides internally. 

A distorted voice on the other end says “Password?”

“Mythos,” he replies.

The door clicks open, to reveal a very ominous empty hallway. He steps in, and the door shuts behind him. If he listens closely he can hear the thudding beat of… industrial music coming from the door at the end? Of course they would be playing industrial music. Everything about this just had to be a cliche, didn’t it. 

He texts her and immediately receives a text back. 

Was that a cat emoji? This was just getting cringier and cringier. No accounting for taste from anyone in this establishment. This had better be worth his time, he thinks, as he opens the second door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> midori means "green" in japanese. riddler's got a theme and he sticks to it, dang it! 
> 
> diane's sister is linda friitawa, aka the minor villain, fright. never let it be said i don't care about canon.
> 
> also the injuries he describes are real. look up the risks of compression of the jugular veins, cerebral hypoxia or vagal outflow induced cardiac arrest if you wanna get freaked out lol. fic is not a good place to get medical advice, but seriously. yikes, yikes, yikes. strangling people is a bad idea. 
> 
> soon, soon, we will find out what kinks he's into. and whether his DADDY ISSUES affect them. did i mention the DADDY ISSUES? DADDY ISSUES. 
> 
> also like, wow, mr. nygma, way to be judgemental. cat emojis are fun and valid.


	4. Chapter 4

He sits down on a couch, brushing past several scantily clad kinksters. 

He tries to avoid glancing at the other folks in the room who were engaged in various activities that, while between consenting adults, still reflected poorly on the mental wellbeing of the participants. Not to mention the pornography playing on several flatscreen televisions on the walls, which was boring, generic, and overstimulating. God, it's disgusting. Everyone rutting like animals. This was so beneath him, it wasn't even funny. What was even the point of this? Why did he think this was a good idea? Not a higher thinker in sight, with one obvious exception, Edward Nygma. Well, technically, Edward Nygma wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this. Luckily, "Arthur Wynne" had less compunctions. Having multiple fake identities is a cinch when you have the right toolset! 

But, no wonder Gotham is the way that it is. Gotham was the butt of so many jokes for being a whirling cesspit of the worst excesses known to man, and frankly? Now he kind of understands why fundie preachers always say that God was going to sink Gotham City into the Atlantic someday. The people in this room _deserve_ what he was going to do to the city, for pretty much fiddling while Rome burns. And honestly? If he hadn't already paid, he would have gotten up and left. The only think keeping him sitting on the ( _Warm!_ he shivers with revulsion) couch was, frankly, the thought of Miss Midori's _fantastic_ cleavage. He wasn't paying for just that, if he just wanted to see tits he could have just done what half the Wayne Enterprises board members did on a Friday night and hire an escort. It was just a perk. A _perky_ perk. He looks around to see if she was among the throng of people. She isn't but he ends up scanning across the room anyways.

Because his brain is always, always, always on, he notices things. Not all of them are things he wants to see, but as he scopes out the room, some of them are very interesting. Interesting like a car crash, or brain worms, but interesting. 

Two women seem to be having some kind of kinbaku demonstration, showing off for an audience. One of the women, the nawashi, kneels on a rubber mat, as she ties a tidy frog tie around her partner's knee with a brightly colored rope. Wait. The nawashi has a very distinctive floral tattoo sleeve on her left arm, and he recognizes her as one of Kate Kane's old paramours, Anna or Alice or Alicia or something he purged from his mental records ages ago. Wait. Was it Alicia? He’s ninety-nine percent sure of it. He hates that tidbit took up important mental energy.

Keeping tabs on Kate Kane is one of his more annoying tasks, especially with Miss Kane out of Gotham and attending West Point at the moment. He does wonder when she's going to start to be interesting again. A over disciplined high achiever with unresolved trauma, not to mention, being a massive closet case? When would she have some kind of breakdown? Or breakthrough, same difference. Miss Kane really did have the potential to be such a fun little game piece, but, _c'est la vie_...

Neither this woman nor Kate are the long distance relationship type, apparently, because she’s kinkily canoodling with a different chapstick lesbian, to the enjoyment of their audience. It's stimulating to see, he begrudgingly admits to himself. 

And to their left, there's a man, a tall, jock type, with a bruising pattern on his thighs that must have been the result of at least three different implements. Did that take a long time to do? Would something like that hurt, if it happened to him? Edward himself had high pain tolerance. But he did bruise easy, and that was why he had asked Miss Midori to go easy on his face, and _where_ was she, exactly? He had been sitting down here for nearly five minutes. The man notices him staring and smiles at him, an easy going grin, and Edward finds himself flushing and looking away. 

In another corner of the room, is a woman being suspended from the ceiling. A person was a dynamic load so somebody had to be careful about how they did that, but she seemed to be doing just fine, based on the blissed out look on her face. Is being tied up really that fun for people? It seems like it. There should be larger lag bolts, a grade two at least in those pad eyes in the ceiling, though. Didn't anybody know anything here? Archimedes, after all, was able to lift that entire warship with just some pulleys. But he couldn’t have done that if the rigging popped out of the ceiling and crashed down on his head, now could he? 

He notices two women railing lines of cocaine off a table in the back corner, passing a rolled up bill between the two of them. That's just _uncouth_ , not to mention, a case of Hep C just waiting to happen! When he himself decides to indulge, he always has the good sense to use something like a clean sticky note rolled up into a straw. Not like he did that often, frequent drug use was so decadent and distracting. He internally rolls his eyes. It was gross. It was so gross. And now there’s an onslaught of fun factoids about germs. And of course, the black leather couch he was sitting on just had to be slightly sticky. He sighs as he pulls his hand off with a soft, squishy sound. How often were they cleaning here? Joy. Edward wishes he had thought to wear gloves or something. Maybe he should start doing that in general? Mental note for later.

All of that is combined with the noise of music and the mental background noise he keeps running most of the time, to fill boring little in-betweens. Right now, it was absent speculation about new Go tactics to try and a mental reminder to do his laundry on Sunday. So he might be feeling a little bit of anxiety. Just a smidgeon. A tad overstimulated.

A leggy blonde gives him a slightly lecherous look and walks over to him. Based on her skimpy goth outfit and casual attitude, she's one of the dommes here.

"Hey, carrot top. You lonely?" she says, popping the p, her lip gloss making a smacking sound. Carrot top? Seriously? Is he being propositioned or was she just messing with him? What was this woman's endgame? He could not get a read on her at all. Her body language was aggressive, but her tone and face were relaxed. Disconcerting. "Maybe I could keep you company?" He opens his mouth to respond but before he can -

"Hi! Thank you for being super patient and waiting on me! I'm sorry I took sooo dang long! A couple AC units busted and we all had to switch rooms way last minute. Oh? Dee, stop teasing my client. His name isn't carrot top! Be nice. He's new."

Diane, Midori, whatever he felt like calling her in his head, is very tall and willowy, with wide set brown eyes, tawny skin and a soft fullness to her mouth. And to Edward's delight, she was the rare type of person, especially in the Internet Age, that looks even cuter in real life. Wait. Cuter? Really now? Didn't he have a shred of dignity left? He might as well just toss his degrees in a trash fire and slum it with the rest of the idiots if he was going to-

Dee grins wolfishly at him. "Aw, you're new? Well, you don't hafta worry a bit. She'll take real good care of you. Maybe I'll see you again sometime, huh?"

Midori waves the blonde off with fond exasperation . She motions for him to get up and leads him through the throng of people and up a flight of stairs in the back.

“Ah, sorry about that. Dee kiiinda likes to bug people, so don't take her too seriously."

“At this point in my life, I've heard every single nickname for redheads. It’s no skin off my nose."

He really had. Strawberry, Little Orphan Annie, dead ringer for your ginger bitch of a mother, et cetera . Considering how outwardly bland he had come across as a child, the red hair was one of his notable characteristics, and the one smaller minds latched on to for material. People were so uncreative with their insults, but he was twenty-six years old, and had outgrown childish insecurities like that. It didn't make him feel annoyed anymore. Besides, if he has to admit it, Dee (and that just had to be a nom de guerreof some kind) had a certain something he just couldn't put a finger on. He wonders if he would end up seeing her again. Gotham City had a way of being like that. 

Midori opens the door and motions for him to go inside, and, well, there's really not any turning back now, is there? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mr. nygma, would it kill you to be less judgmental? people think you're adorable, just have fun for once, jeez!  
> and "over disciplined high achiever with unresolved trauma"? being a queer redhead with subby tendencies? glass houses and stones, buddy boy.  
> he's so pretentious, calling everything by the japanese terms. its just rope bondage, you dweeb. he did a lot of googling, presumably.  
> is there evidence in the comics that riddler does coke occasionally? nah, but it just makes sense. supervillains keep insane hours and some of them have to be doing hard drugs to keep up. riddler probably also lies about having adhd to get an adderall prescription too, because he makes terrible choices everyday. he likes the stimmies! they let him monologue about himself even more than usual!  
> five points to anyone who can guess who "dee" is.  
> next chapter, the kinkening. and maybe, even after that... the riddlebat you came for. (it might not be in the form you expected though!)  
> but you have to sit through more of mr. nygma's capital i Emotional Issues first.  
> anyways, gcpd, get riddler a big tiddy gf. he would commit 5-10 percent less crime.


End file.
